Alias Black And White
by Vokal
Summary: After Sydney is teamed with a mysterious agent with links to Mr Sark, Sydney finds herself working with Sark in order to stop the covenant and an agent hell-bent on exacting her own personal revenge...
1. Part One

** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART ONE**

Sydney pressed her hands firmly over Sark's wound, deep crimson blood teaming about her fingers and coagulating in small pools on the pure white sand where he lay.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sydney asked without looking up at him.

Sark thought he heard traces of concern in her voice.

"Why, you worried I won't make it?" He smirked confidently through his pain.

"Yeah, you're the only one who knows how to operate the submarine…"

Sark nodded slowly, but the smirk remained planted on his youthful face. He could feel himself fading slowly into the sand, the edges of his being blurring into the peaceful island scenery. Ironic that he'd meet his end here, in such a passive, serene setting, with Sydney Bristow hovering concernedly and almost confusingly close above him. He chuckled slightly as his sharp blue eyes closed softly, laughing at his death, calm and gentle, and such a paradox to the way he had lived.

_Previously…._

**LOS ANGELES**

Sunlight filtered unevenly into the office where they sat silently, staring anywhere but at each other. Sydney's gaze kept flickering back to Vaughn's wedding ring. Almost tormenting, a beam of perfect, cylindrical light percolated through the blinds and seemed to hit the gold band conspicuously. Sydney narrowed her eyes. Even nature was conspiring against her. 

The uncomfortable silence was broken as Agent Weiss entered the room, shrugging as if he could unconsciously feel the weight of the tension building in the room.

Agent Weiss directed his comments to Sydney, short and abrupt, but underlying with compassion. "Has Vaughn filled you in on the details?"

Sydney nodded at him, smiling slightly.

"Alright then, we move out in an hour…"

Sydney went to say something, but seemed to hesitate. Knowingly, Weiss turned back to her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing… it's just… how can we rely on this intelligence? Vaughn said Moore was a free agent, working for anyone and everyone…"

Weiss glanced at Vaughn nervously. "Vaughn and Moore have a… history… working together. She trusts him, he trusts her…"

Sydney sensed Weiss' discomfort with the subject and looked to Vaughn for validation.

"Moore and I have an understanding… if she can benefit from working with us than she will." Vaughn looked up at Sydney from beneath dark lashes, guilt reflected in his voice and eyes.

"She…?" Syd turned from Vaughn and looked questioningly at Weiss, surprised that Vaughn hadn't mentioned Moore's gender.

Weiss handed a file to Syd. "Tarra Moore, you'll rendezvous with her in the air…"

***

"The last time I had peanuts I near-choked on one, seriously"

Sydney turned to the woman sitting beside her and gave a weak smile. She hated airplane small talk, and she was in no mood today to deal with her neighbor's near-death experiences, or anything else for that matter. She scanned the airplane carefully, looking for signals that would reveal Tarra Moore to her. Tarra Moore, what kind of a name was that anyway? Sounded like a prostitute. Sydney creased her forehead in frustration, tucking a stray piece of hair safely behind her ears.   


"You know sugar, you shouldn't frown - it'll give you wrinkles"

Syd turned back to her neighbor, feigning a smile. The woman smiled back warmly, her shadowy brown eyes flashing mischievously and her large, dark-red lips twitching into a smirk. Her skin was smooth and golden, hinting at a slightly Mediterranean lineage, although her accent was clearly lower-class New Jersey. Long chocolate-brown hair was braided neatly down her back, and, for a moment, Sydney thought she looked a lot like a younger version of her mother. Sydney's mouth started to open, but the woman next to her flung out a hand.

"Tarra Moore, freelance espionage agent"

Sydney stared open-mouthed for a few seconds, before extending her own hand.

"Sydney Bristow, former CIA agent, uncertain of my current status"

Moore grinned at Sydney, a sly smile that aged her young face. "The only certainty in life is death, even then I'm sure the gods negotiate... So, have you been briefed on our target?"

Sydney smiled back, a somewhat more sincere smile than the last one. "Bruno Rufuso, an Alliance recruiter... should be interesting"

"Our aim here is to find out who the mole is within the CIA, who Rufuso recruited to work against yas". Moore flipped her eyebrows up enthusiastically.

Sydney smiled again as she studied Moore more closely. The woman before her appeared young in both appearance and manner, she was probably no older than 25 years of age, and yet her eyes were so archaic, as if she had seen the world pass through all the ages and then some.

Moore's voice broke Sydney's train of thought. "So, I hear Mike got married, what's the wife like?"

Sydney looked to the ground, studying the detail of the carpet carefully and ignoring the intimate way in which Moore referred to Vaughn. When she finally spoke her voice was no more than a whisper. "I wouldn't know…"

***

Sark buttoned his suit languidly and methodically. Smoothing the dark fabric against his chest and straightening his tie, he studied his reflection with the same level of disinterest he afforded everything else.

He turned as one of his soldiers entered the luxurious hotel room where he had set up a base camp. "Sir, we have confirmation that Rufuso will be in location near the Tasman Sea for a few days…"

"That old man does love his yacht". Sark smirked. "Tell the lads we're going to Australia…"

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	2. Part Two

** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART ** **TWO**

**MELBOURNE**

Sydney was finding it difficult to keep up with Moore as they strode out of Melbourne International Airport. Her steps were determined, fast, and a far cry from the dejected pace Sydney felt like walking at. In what seemed to her a few hours, but what in reality had been two years, Sydney had lost everything she cared about. But most importantly, she had lost herself, and her sense of purpose. She was doing nothing but following orders, not because she _wanted_ to, but because it was all there was _to_ do.

"Hey Bristow!"

Sydney was surprised to hear Moore call her by her last name; after all, everyone she had ever worked with had called her 'Syd'.

Sydney turned her attention to the young woman beside her.

"We rendezvous with our arms man in an hour… you ai'ight?"

Sydney smiled mutedly, tucking her hair behind her ear characteristically. "Yeah… I'm fine".

Moore stopped abruptly, turning into a block of public toilets. Sydney furrowed her brow again. She may have been feeling disconsolate, but she was still a mighty-fine spy, and understood the need for disguise. She stood out the front of the toilet block for a few minutes, arms folded defensively, and her fingers tapping to an unheard rhythm.

After a short while, she saw Moore emerge from the toilet block. It had taken a moment for her to recognize the brash agent. Long, smooth golden legs led to a tartan school skirt a few sizes too small and definitely too short, and to Sydney's surprise, Moore had managed to pour herself into an almost skin-tight blouse, complete with tie and blazer, with enough cleavage showing to stop traffic on the Los Angeles freeway.

Moore saw the look of surprise on Sydney's face and smiled wryly. "Wait until you see your disguise…"

***

Across from the school, Moore saw a car approach. Narrowing her eyes to read the bumper sticker, she smiled. 'Jesus Loves Me'. 

From the sidewalk, Sydney also noticed the bumper sticker, and walked into the centre of the road. She held the stop sign up high and with an ironic tilt of her head toward Moore, who bounced across the school crossing jovially. 

Moore approached the car slowly, characteristic wry smile planted across her face. The dark window rolled down slowly to reveal a middle-aged man with an amused look on his face. 

"Hey daddy…" Moore's eyes grew dark as she leant through the open window.

"You forgot your school bag… darling"

Pulling the zipper open slightly, Moore patted the guns inside affectionately.

"Thanks daddy…" She kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering.

"Always welcome…"

***

The girls sat on the beach without talking, the sun darkening Moore's already tanned skin, and turning Sydney's into an iridescent vision tangled with the bright red of her life-savers bathing suit.

Moore squinted into the binoculars she held in one hand, while tugging at her lifesavers yellow and red cap with the other.

"Stop fidgeting…" Sydney chastised the younger agent almost maternally. 

"I can't, it's a mental predisposition…" Moore murmured as she surveyed the area around the bay. "According to my sources, Rufuso will anchor here near the docks to pick up food… and other supplies."

Sydney rolled her eyes. She hated how Moore always spoke in analogies, even though Syd was perfectly sure Moore knew she was aware of their true meaning. It was like she was attempting to maintain some sort of power over her. Sydney furrowed her eyebrows. Moore chuckled, and for a moment, Sydney thought she had been able to read her mind.

"Bristow, our guest of honour has arrived…"

Sydney squinted into the sun. "Let's move out…"

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Part Three

**PART THREE**

"I count 5 guards; it's going to be tough to get on that boat…" Sydney involuntarily wrinkled her forehead.

Moore looked at her incredulously. "Sydney, they're _men_…"

***

Sydney approached the boat at a leisurely pace, her hips swinging rhythmically to an internal tune and her long blonde wig tumbling about her face in the wind. A guard on the boat saw her approach wearing a small white string bikini that left little to the imagination, and subconsciously licked his lips.

Moore walked up alongside her, the young woman slightly shorter than Sydney, but filling out her black bikini far better. They walked until they were only a short distance away from the large yacht, when Sydney flicked out her towel and lay down in the brilliant Australian sun. Moore followed suit, laying on her back and placing her beach bag underneath her head as a pillow. Her bright red wig scattered mockingly in the shape of a halo around her head.

"You know" Moore said just loud enough for the guards to hear, "… You'll get burnt if you don't put sun screen on…"

"Do you mind?" Sydney held up the bottle of sunscreen to Moore.

Moore smiled. "Not at all…"

The guard watched as Moore lathered Sydney with sunscreen, and the girls noticed him using his communicator. 

"We're in…" Moore whispered to Syd.

Sydney couldn't help the victorious smile that crossed her face. "Too easy..!"

***

"It is so nice of you to let us have a ride on your boat…" Moore giggled in a perfect Australian accent.

Sydney was almost shocked by the legitimacy of her accent, and wondered for a moment if the New Jersey drawl was a fake too.

Rufuso spoke slowly, his words deep and cavernous. "Well, it's not everyday I have the pleasure of the company of two beautiful young women…"

Syd smiled coyly. "I find that hard to believe Mr…?"

"Rufuso, just Rufuso…" His voice was thick with a German brogue.

"Excuse me… where is the ladies room?" Moore smiled at Rufuso and his bodyguard.

"Just below deck to the left, darling…" Rufuso smiled at her, his eyes wandering.

Moore disappeared below deck and reappeared a few moments later. She tilted her head to one side and looked toward the guard on deck. "I'm sorry, could you show me?" 

The bodyguard pursed his lips together. "Sure…"

Sydney took a bottle of sunscreen out of Moore's beach bag. She waved it playfully at Rufuso. "Could you?"

"No problem, dear…" His words seemed to reverberate around the deck.

Syd walked over to him and handed him the bottle, turning her back to him.

Rufuso squirted a small amount of sunscreen into his palm and rubbed them together slowly, contemplating.

Sydney folded her arms and shook her head as she watched him slump to the floor as the sedative in the sunscreen took effect. "Men…"

Moore emerged from below deck sweaty and breathing heavy. "The guards are taken care of. They were weak, weak men, and might I add, very badly trained fighters."

Sydney threw her the beach bag and Moore pulled two dark, sleek 9mms from it, setting them comfortably in holsters she strapped around her bare thighs . "Now let's take care of Rufuso."

***

Rufuso woke groggily to the vision of Moore leaning over him menacingly.

"How are ya?"

He blinked confusedly at her New Jersey twang.

Sydney hovered behind her, arms folded across her chest defensively. "We know you work for the Alliance. We know you recruited a CIA agent."

Moore broke in. "You'll give us the name of your asset, or there will be pain." She pulled a long, thin piece of metal from her beach bag. "Lots of pain."

He smiled defiantly. "My dear, threats will get you nowhere…"

Moore tapped the piece of metal lightly against her leg and then stabbed it through Rufuso's hand with force. He didn't' even wince.

"Neither will that…" His words were dry, but Sydney could read the confusion behind his eyes.

"Why not?" She looked at him earnestly.

"Because I didn't recruit an agent from the CIA, nor did anyone in my company, or that of the Alliance."

"He's lying…" Moore narrowed her eyes characteristically.

"I don't think so…" Sydney searched Rufuso's face. Her years as a spy had made her intuitive, and she trusted that this man was telling them the truth.

"Your sources have lied to you, and your agency has been misled. There is more than one mole within the CIA…

Rufuso's deep voice gurgled in his throat as a shot rang out. A warm, fine spray of blood splattered Moore's face. She looked up from the chair where the German was restrained, almost ripping her guns from their holsters as she directed them at Sark.

"Nice of you ladies to do the hard work for me…" Sark's voice was much deeper than Sydney remembered, and as he stood before her in his black rubber diving suit, she noticed that his shoulders seemed to have broadened since the last time she saw him.

Sark's eyes wandered to Sydney. "Look who's back from the dead…"

"Look who's all growed up…" Sydney shot back condescendingly. 

Moore's guns remained leveled at Sark. "Drop your weapon!"

Sark smiled wryly as he let his gun slide from his hand and hit the deck with a thud. "Well Moore, it's nice to see you again too." He motioned to Rufuso. "What did he tell you?"

Moore's voice was steady. "I'm the one with the guns, so I ask the questions"

Sark's confident grin deepened. "But I'm the one with the sharp wit and biting comebacks… Oh, and a fully armed nuclear submarine."

Behind Sark, Sydney saw the water breaking as a submarine surfaced. 

"Oh shit…" Moore flicked her guns around her fingers and opened fire. She heard flesh tearing as a bullet penetrated Sark's shoulder, but the waves caused by the surfacing submarine shook the yacht and she fell, cascading down the tilting deck helplessly, her guns skidding from her hands.

Sark scrambled for his gun, rolling into position and returning fire. Moore tumbled back toward him as the yacht tipped the other way. He scooped up one of her guns as it hurtled past him.

Gripping onto a railing for support, Sydney reached for the piece of metal Moore had used to threaten Rufuso and aimed it at Sark.

Moore was stopped from rolling off the deck as Sark planted a foot firmly on her stomach, leaning against the rails for support. Training one gun on her, he directed the other at Sydney Bristow. "I wouldn't do that if I were you…" He threatened in a clipped British accent, his words crisp.

Moore looked helpless pinned beneath his weight, and Sydney knew she couldn't take him on alone. She sighed and dropped the metal blade, its eerie resonance echoing as Sark's men boarded the yacht wearing diver's suits and carrying more than enough firepower.

"Oh shit…" Moore whispered under her breath.

***

Sydney sat straddling a chair, her hands cuffed to the bottom of the seat and her feet cuffed to the legs. She heard Moore picking at her handcuffs next to her.

"Can you get them undone?"

"No… Say, your bikini doesn't have an under wire, does it? I need a thin piece of metal"

Sydney turned her head to look at Moore, who was cuffed to a roofing fixture by her hands. Her feet were manacled together, and she was almost hanging. The blood had drained from her hands, making them numb and difficult to use to pick the cuffs. She sighed. "I think we're in trouble, Bristow…"

Sydney looked at her in disbelief. "You _think_?"

They could hear the sound of gunshots from above deck, as Sark and his men killed Rufuso's unconscious guards and tossed them overboard. "We're next…" Sydney whispered.

Moore shook her head, the movement causing her to swing unsteadily from side to side. "I have a plan".

They heard footsteps on the stairs leading below deck. Sydney looked dubiously toward Moore. "Just trust me, okay?" Moore said determinedly.

Sark appeared in the doorway, his diving suit cut off one shoulder and a bandage soaking up intense red blood in its place. "It seems you have failed your mission, Agent Bristow…" 

Sydney glared at him, trying not to notice how his hair had grown slightly longer in the two years she had been missing, and was dripping small droplets of salty water onto his face and neck.

"And Moore, working with the CIA? I am surprised". He tilted his head to one side as he gazed at her, mockingly disappointed.

"They pay well, and I get a dental plan…" She stared him down fiercely, her eyes flaming. She hated to fail; it was something she was not accustomed to.

Sark reloaded his gun with ammo and took the safety off slowly, a menacing yet ironic grin on his face. "Sorry ladies… it's nothing personal".

As he leveled his gun at Moore, Sydney thought she almost did see a flash of remorse in his eyes. As quickly as it had appeared, however, it was gone, and his finger lingered on the trigger. Sydney closed her eyes.

"Wait!" Moore almost screamed the word, her voice emanating hoarsely as one long, desperate sound.

Startled, Sark angled his gun away from her. He was momentarily stunned by the courageous agent's uncharacteristic desperation, but recomposed himself quickly.

Sydney released a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Moore looked Sark up and down seductively, her voice shaking only slightly, her confidence back in place. "Maybe we could come to some other arrangement…"

Sydney thought she saw Sark bite his bottom lip as he walked toward Moore slowly, stopping less than an inch away from her face, his body pressed against hers. 

With one gloved hand, he reached up and wiped the smatterings of Rufuso's blood from her face, his fingers gliding over her cheeks. Moore's breath caught in her throat as she felt the cold steel of the barrel of his gun pressing into her stomach. With one hand still cupping her face, he dragged the gun up to her head, allowing it to slide warningly over her skin, and stopping it right between her eyes.

"As temptin' as that may sound, I don't think you could handle all my employers too… and they're the ones that want you dead" Sark's voice was husky, thick with an Irish brogue Sydney hadn't heard in his accent before. Moore also recognized the change, and smiled smugly. Men were weak.

"Well what if I worked for your employers as well…?" Moore looked him straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering.

"You'd turn on the CIA?"

"Who needs a dental plan?" Moore tilted her head sarcastically. 

Sark nodded. "Fair enough… your first assignment…" he signaled toward Sydney. "… Is to kill Agent Bristow…"

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Part Four

** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART THREE**

Sydney walked reluctantly to the edge of the boat, Moore's careful gaze on her.

"Think about what you're doing…" Sydney was pleading.

"I'm saving myself…" Moore half-smiled sadly, but Sydney had trouble believing she was truly upset.

Sark looked on almost amusedly.

"Sorry, doll… this is just the way it has to be." Moore cocked her head to the side, training her gun on Sydney.

Sydney's eyes darted about the boat for a distraction, some way of getting out of the situation. Squinting against the sun reflecting off the metal railing on the opposite side of the boat, Sydney smiled. 

Moore aimed the gun, and just as she was about to pull the trigger, Sydney darted to the side, allowing the sun to shine directly in the younger agent's eyes.

Sydney threw her leg up in a forceful kick, knocking the gun from Moore's hand. Moore recovered quickly, scrounging for her gun.

Sark fired, the bullet missing Sydney by a fraction and ricocheting off the railing. Sydney threw herself on top of Moore, who, unable to reach her gun, elbowed Syd in the face and scrambled to her feet. Sydney slammed her against the railing hard, knocking the breath out of her. Moore grabbed Sydney around the waist and lifted, pulling her over her head and the railing.

Sydney was flung over the edge of the yacht, desperately reaching for something to hang on to, the ocean pounding below her as the yacht powered ahead at full speed. With a sickening thud, Sydney's head hit a protrusion on the side of the boat, her limp body crashing into the water and disappearing under the backwash.

Moore straightened herself and turned back to Sark, who was looking at her with the same amused half-grin he always had.

"Why didn't you do something..?" She asked breathlessly.

Sark looked her over circumspectly - her tousled hair, disheveled bikini, and golden skin covered in a fine sweat. He raised an eyebrow. "Cos that was fun…" Sark motioned with a flick of his hand to one of his men. "Cuff her…"

"What!?" Moore looked at him confusedly, a hint of betrayal in her eyes.

"You, my dear, are quite a valuable asset. Free agents always are. We work for anyone, anytime, and that means we know a great deal about a lot of people."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I said I'd work with you…"

Sark chortled. "I know your kind all too well, aye, I am your kind, you'd try to escape the moment I had my back turned, or probably try to stab me in it…"

Moore winked. "It's like we're the same person".

Sark's men manacled her wrists and ankles, and Moore showed no signs of struggle.

***

Sydney's arms ached from swimming forcefully and her head pounded as if a small militia of Tarra Moore's had set up an armory in her brain. "That bitch." 

Syd saw the coastline ahead of her, longing for nothing more than to lie down on the yellow sand and sleep forever. But she new she had to keep going one. She always had, and she always would. It was not in her nature to give up.

***

"You know, it's kinda breezy here darl, do you reckon I could get a jacket?"

Sark looked up from his map to where Moore was suspended from the ceiling in the same manner as before, wearing only her tiny black bikini and shivering from the breeze blowing through the door that led below deck. 

"No. Jackets have zippers, buttons and other objects that may be used against me…" 

Moore crinkled her nose, and Sark suddenly realized how child-like she was. Except for those eyes… those deep, archaic eyes.

"Asshole…"

"I heard that"

"You were meant to…"

Sark ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's quite hard being a criminal mastermind determined to take over the world, do you think maybe I could get a bit of quiet?" 

"Sorry hun, one of my personality flaws."

Sark turned back to his map. Moore started clicking her tongue in boredom.

"My arms are aching…"

Sark sighed exasperatedly. "You'll have an aching gunshot wound in a minute…"

"What? You gonna shoot me? Then you won't get your information…"

"You don't need a leg to talk…"

Moore's eyes narrowed involuntarily. "I'm cold…"

Sark threw his pen down on the desk, the small object seemingly booming as it hit the map. He picked up his gun – the lethal item looking comfortable in his hand.

Moore saw Sark's reaction. His body was tense, and she could see his hair curling from the damp sweat on his neck. He was angry. Moore knew she had pushed to far, and that she had to rectify the situation – fast.

Sark stood close to her, directing the gun at Moore's lower leg, the cold barrel biting her skin. She could feel his warm breath dancing on her exposed skin, and she unwittingly trembled.

She looked into his eyes, sharp, bright blue pools that revealed his intelligence and annoyance and alluded to something less tangible… an inner darkness Moore knew all too well. She licked her lips.

"Thanks for the body heat…"

Sark caught the look in Moore's eyes as she studied him and he became short of breath. Her eyes seemed omniscient, and they also conveyed her emotions completely. He looked down to the gun in his hand and began to drag it up Moore's leg languidly. She gasped as the steel reached her inner thigh and Sark bit his lower lip.

"Warm enough yet?"

Moore smiled sarcastically. "Not yet…"

***

The sun leaked through the slits in tacky Venetian blinds that hung over one of the windows below deck, the sunlight splattering across disheveled sheets. Moore stirred softly, careful not to wake the sleeping sociopath beside her. She propped herself up onto an elbow to survey her situation. Sark was lying beside her, not quite peacefully though, as it would seem even in sleep his body was tense. His toes were curled tightly, and his grip on the pillow beneath his head threatened to tear the flimsy cotton cover. She could see his forehead creased in fury as he attacked his enemies in his unconscious. 

She was closest to the wall, and could see numerous difficulties in extracting herself from the bed. Sark didn't look like he was sleeping sound enough not to be woken if she moved. She narrowed her eyes, studying him as he slept. They weren't so different, Sark and herself. In any other setting, if they had any other job, they may have been friends – or more. But they were spies, assassins, and in most cases, enemies. And they were always going to be. Moore knew that as soon as she had lost her usefulness to Sark, he would kill her, or sell her to people who would torture her, and then kill her. Her only chance of survival was to escape.

Moore slipped to the foot of the bed slowly, her arms trailing above her head. Just as her feet hit the floor, she felt her wrist caught by cold metal above her head.

"Going somewhere?" Sark's voice stopped her heart momentarily, his words brusque and free of drowsiness. 

"Was thinking about it…" Moore bit her top lip in defeat as Sark cuffed her other hand to the bed head.

He rolled onto his stomach to face her, an almost warm smile on his face. "Think again…"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	5. Part Five

** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART ** **FIVE**

_1 month later…_

**LOS ANGELES**

Sydney looked at Weiss skeptically.

"I don't believe it…"

Weiss smiled proudly. "Believe it…"

"But…"

"But what?"

"Doesn't it seem a little weird?"

"What? That I could actually apprehend a wanted terrorist?" He didn't try to hide his hurt expression.

"No… that you apprehended him at Donut King…"

Marshall spoke up from where he was sitting in the briefing room.

"Maybe he has a soft spot for their jelly donuts… because they are quite tasty, discounting the fact that over 75% of the product is sugar and I'm not supposed to have sugar, because, well… I have bad glands". He smiled sheepishly.

Sydney raised an eyebrow at Weiss. "All I'm saying is… I don't like it, it's suspicious."

Weiss glanced at her almost condescendingly. "Syd, it's Sark, I'd be suspicious if there wasn't something suspicious about it."

She furrowed her brows.

"You know…" Weiss said absently, "… you shouldn't' keep doing that, you'll get wrinkles".

Sydney winced as she remembered who she had heard that advice from before.

"Did you want to see him?"

Marshall's question startled Sydney back into reality.

"No."

The answer was simple. She didn't want to see him. Why would she?

"Ahh… o… okay then… well of course you wouldn't… you know mortal enemies… and… everything." Marshall stammered an answer whilst making sword fighting motions with his hands.

Sydney smiled grimly.

"You'll need to be available to testify at the trial". Weiss looked up at Sydney uncertainly, puzzled by the shadow behind her eyes.

"Yeah, of course…" She paused, considering. "Please tell me they're pursuing the death penalty?"

"It's too early to say yet… but considering what Sark's done in the last few years… and the fact that he's already escaped Federal custody - most likely."

"Good." She smiled again.

An awkward silence.

"Well… well not for Sark." Marshall added carefully.

***

Sark paced the small cell like a caged tiger, his eyes narrow but alert. He felt a chill permeating his body – not just from the cold of the room, but from his captivity.

He wore a standard prison garment, and the sleeves itched at his wrists as he ran a hand through tousled hair.

He didn't like being a prisoner, in fact he hated it. All this for a jelly donut. He grunted, annoyed, his usual calm disposition fraying as he contemplated his 38th night in CIA custody.

The trial had started just over a week ago, and Sark actually looked forward to the daily outings. He hadn't seen Sydney yet, which he was beginning to find bothered him more than he'd like it to. He would have thought she'd be a key witness for his prosecution, seeing as how she had been present at quite a number of his more dastardly acts.

He rubbed his hands together absently, his finger squeezing an invisible trigger, and sat in the corner of his cell.

***

Sydney watched the surveillance screen thoughtfully. 

The security feed was being relayed to the ops centre from the maximum security prison where Sark was being held. Sydney had yet to figure out why monitoring Sark was of importance to the ClandOps unit working from the centre, but that was only one of many oddities she had discovered since her return to the CIA.

She squinted at the screen. Sark looked so much more like a lost little boy and a lot less like a criminal mastermind as he sat crouched in a crook at the back of his cell. She figured he was getting weary of his imprisonment, and noted almost inattentively his clenched fists and tense shoulders.

Marshall startled her as he approached.

"Have you seen any of the trial?"

Sydney turned to him, her thoughts still on the blonde assassin captive in the cell.

"No. The CIA have restricted my access…" She looked at Marshall almost sadly.

"That's probably just until they sort out the whole, you know, 'missing for two years' thing." He smiled at her reassuringly.

"I'm not sure. I get the feeling that there's a lot more going on." Sydney searched Marshall's eyes for any clues that he might know what was deliberately being withheld from her. She smiled when she realized that even if he did have clearance, Marshall would still be the last to know.

"Well, I'd trust your instincts, if I were you…" Marshall gazed at her earnestly.

"Yeah…" Sydney smiled and turned back to the screen. 

"I'm giving evidence tomorrow…" She paused as she saw Sark look up at the surveillance camera, as if he felt he was being watched.

Marshall touched her arm lightly. "Good luck…"

"Yeah…" Sydney answered absently as she wondered what use luck would be now.

Sark stared up at her, and she could imagine the vivid blue of his eyes that the black-and-white camera didn't show up.

A lump formed in her throat when she thought she saw him mouth her name, and, forming a gun shape with his thumb and finger, tap his hand against his forehead.

She swallowed and turned and walked out of the Ops centre.


	6. Part Six

** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART ** **SIX**

Sydney sat across from him and tried not too show the hate she felt. If she showed feeling - any feeling - it would give him ammunition against her. 

He stood absolutely composed at the front of the room, his hands folded coolly in front of him, his eyes steady.

The room was not a typical courtroom - the trial of an international terrorist would never have been played out in a standard American courtroom.

Sark stood in a glass container - a spray of small microphones in front of him, relaying what he was saying to the court with a tinny, mechanical tinge.

12 soldiers stood by the glass box where he was held, weapons at ready, and a further two units waited at strategic points in and around the building, as well as a half dozen US Marshall's that transported Sark from the maximum security prison to the bland, insignificant building where the trial was held. 

Sydney had been told that the building masqueraded as a branch of The Department Of Fish And Game, but was really another CIA-sanctioned operations centre.

Several directors of various government departments, including the CIA, DOD and NSA, as well as a few Senators, and two CIA interrogators and two lawyers, sat at a long table facing Sark's glass enclosure, and behind them sat the agents who were to give evidence.

New US anti-terrorism laws allowed for Sark to stand trial unrepresented - without a lawyer, and unable to provide any witnesses or defense of his own.

The trial was, essentially, an interrogation that would ultimately lead to a death sentence.

Sark knew this. Sydney could tell. He knew that no matter what he said he would be killed. So he stood either silently smiling, answering questions with his own questions or ambiguous replies, or with a snide attack on the CIA and the government it represented. 

Questions were thrown at him from all about the room - even from agents who were to give evidence.

There were no laws preventing the torrent of questions or controlling who would ask them. Sydney couldn't say that she really cared - as long as Sark got what he deserved.

He looked at her her sitting stoically among her fellow agents and couldn't help smiling. So pathetic - after all they had put her through - she stood by the CIA. 

"With whom does your true alliance rest, Mr Sark?" A round, red-faced Senator put the question forward - his voice unsteady.

Sark looked at him calmly, an eyebrow half-cocked in mockery.

"I would've thought that question would be rather inconsequential, given my current situation..." Sark smiled again, the motion sending chills through Sydney.

He looked so cold, she thought, so... unfeeling.

He looked directly at her, his lip curling slightly.

"But seeing as how I have no pressing engagements..." He paused. "My true loyalty is to myself, my American friend. Therefore my allegiances change to better my own situation."

He flicked his eyebrows up as he finished.

He was intelligent, Sydney thought. This trial would last forever.

"Is it not true you were once aligned with Irina Derevko, ex-KGB agent and current..."

Sark interjected the bumbling lawyer who had asked him the question.

"I know who she is, Sir. Please don't waste my time by listing her criminal activities. I was present at the majority of them." 

A dark man with a deep voice spoke without raising his head. Sydney recognized him as an NSA director.

"Your time is ours to waste, Mr Sark."

Sark's mouth twitched, and Sydney knew him well enough to know that the director's response had thrown him - even if it was only slightly. 

It would seem that his time in confinement had made him less resilient. 

Sark shifted uncomfortably where he stood. His hospitable captors had not provided him with a seat. His world was all about control, and the director's reply had shifted that control. Sark was not happy.

Sydney took advantage of his unbalance and stood to ask a question.

"How did your partnership with Irina Derevko begin?"

Sark smiled again and Sydney felt like smacking it from his face.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to contain your curiosity... Sydney."

All the men sitting at the table in front turned slowly in their seats to face her. Sark had used her first name to establish familiarity, that she understood. But she was unsure whether he wanted to tag her with suspicion. 

He rubbed his hand together as if washing them with invisible soap and water.

"Your mother and I..." He smiled again as murmurs traveled through the room. "... established our working relationship before I was even in the business. She was my mentor."

He rubbed his hands together again, signaling the end of his answer. 

"You didn't answer my question..." Sydney looked at him determinedly.

"Agent Bristow!" The NSA director's booming voice halted Sydney. "Please withhold your comments for the time being."

Sark chuckled and Sydney seethed.

The men around her continued to ask questions she deemed futile. Who had Sark worked with, how did he form contacts, blah blah blah. She rolled her eyes. This wasn't a trial - no-one discussed what Sark had done, how he was guilty. They were more interested in information - information they would never get from him - the CIA had tried.

Eventually Sydney was called to give evidence and she moved to a seat adjacent to the long table.

***

".. beacuse I needed to pursue the Rambaldi device, I sent my father, Agent Jack Bristow, to negotiate the hand-over of Will Tippin with Sark."

Sydney looked up slowly, remembering what Sark had put Will and her through.

"It is my understanding..." Sydney continued, "... that as well as torturing Tippin, Sark also shot and murdered the three agents protecting him."

She darted a look to Sark in an effort to gauge his reaction. He stood impassively.

***

Sydney rubbed the back of her neck tiredly.

The men asking her questions took notes absently. This was pointless. _Just kill him already_. Sydney shifted in her seat.

She could feel Sark's eyes on her, penetrating her. She could imagine the shadowy blue eyes that watched her as she spoke and she shuddered involuntarily.

Sydney continued.

"Sark offered me the antidote in exchange for Sloane... Given the nature of the situation, I accepted."

"The nature of the situation?" The red faced Senator spoke up again.

"Agent Vaughn would have died had he not received the antidote."

The men scribbled something else down and Sydney's lips flattened into an irritated line.

She glanced over to Sark, who smiled widely back at her. 

_He is enjoying every moment of this._ Sydney glared back at him and he chuckled.

"Has Mr. Sark ever threatened your life, Sydney?" A thin man with graying hair spoke up from the audience of agents.

"Yes." She answered flatly. "Sark has tried to kill me on more than one occasion."

Again, the pointless murmering.

"That will be all, Agent Bristow." She heard the NSA Director speak again.

"That's all?" Sydney asked almost incredulously.

"Yes, that will be all. Please consult one of the Marshall's regarding departure protocol."

_I'm being kicked out._ Sydney moved slowly towards the door. She couldn't believe it, this wasn't a trial, it was a goddamn waste of time.

She felt Sark watching her as she left.

Sark's crisp accent halted her and drew the attention of his questioners. "I only shot two agents, not three, while acquiring Will Tippin. I ran over the other one outside with my car. There's a difference, you know. And for the record, I have never attempted to kill you, Syd..."

_Again with the intimate use of her name. What was he playing at?_

She turned back slightly and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

The audience watched him, waiting for an explanation.

"... If I had indeed being trying to end your life, you wouldn't be standing here today."

His lips curved in a smile and he chuckled almost jovially.

Sydney walked away with out turning back.


	7. Part Seven

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** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART ** **SIX**

Sydney walked down the long, cold aisle without much sense of purpose. She didn't know what she was walking to – what she was needed for.

But she had been paged and told to get straight over to the prison where Sark was being held, and she always did what was asked of her.

She was greeted by a scrawny, overtly nervous guard and the NSA director with the deep voice at a briefing room at the end of the corridor.

"Agent Bristow, I'm Deputy-Director Whatts, this is Thompson…" He motioned to the guard before holding out his hand for her to shake.

She took his hand tentatively, still unsure of why she was here.

"Sir, why am I here?"

Whatts looked her up and down, scrutinizing her, before speaking.

"I think you'd better come with us."

***

She watched in shock more than horror.

The man who was usually so calm – so calculated - so controlled, was pressed against the wall with a bloodied knife in his hand and a look of absolute primitive rage on his face.

Around him, Sark's blood mixed with that of his victim, footsteps etched in deep crimson blood were dotted about the narrow cell and Sydney tried hard not to look at the splatters on the wall.

"Oh god… what happened?" She stared wide-eyed at Sark, his face almost unrecognizable.

"The sentence was handed down this morning…"

Sydney turned to Whatts.

"Death penalty?"

He looked at her, shaking his head.

"No. Life imprisonment. That seems to be the problem."

"He wanted to die?" Sydney looked at him questioningly. 

"You know these terrorists. They always want to be the Martyr."

The guard started talking hurriedly to her after Whatts nodded in his direction.

"Sark bribed another prisoner who worked in the kitchen to smuggle him a butter knife. He's been sharpening it for a few weeks now – I guess ever since the trial ended. This morning he ambushed one of our guards. He killed him."  
  


Whatts spoke up.

"Stabbed him forty-one times before turning the knife on himself."

Sydney turned her attention back to the cell.

"I know Sark's a killer, but he's usually so composed… so controlled."

"That's why we've asked for you to come in. You know him better than anyone in the CIA."

Sydney shook her head, glancing again to the disheveled figure in the cell. "I do not know that man. That's not the Sark I know…"

"Well then we need to figure out why…" Whatts looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "We're sending in a team to tranquilize him. A combination of the drugs and his current deteriorated mental state means that he'll probably talk – more so than he would under any truth serum. Our psychologists say that he's broken – your mission is to find out why, and anything else you can."

Sydney nodded hesitantly. "Yes Sir."

As if in answer to some pre-written cue, a team entered his cell. Sydney drew in a deep breath involuntarily.

She watched as a tranq dart hit Sark square in the chest. He pulled it out frantically.

"What is this! A tranq dart! Why won't you people kill me!" Sark screamed hoarsely, his eyes darting about the room. He pointed to the body of the dead guard.

"Look! I'm a killer! Kill me! I deserve to die!"

Another tranq dart hit him in the leg and he fell to the ground almost pathetically, slapping his hands down on the ground, splashing a pool of still blood.

"Just kill me!"  
  


Sydney thought she heard him sobbing and tried to ignore her heart wrenching as she watched someone so strong – so fearless – slip into insanity.

***

He was strapped to a stainless steel table, his clothes changed from the standard prison garment into stark white surgical scrubs. Bandages covered his arms from where he had slashed himself.

Sydney walked over to him and reached up as if to smooth his hair off his forehead.

Her hand froze in mid air and she put it back down beside her stiffly, taking a seat on stool beside his bed uncomfortably.

"Sark."

She tried to keep her voice emotionless, cold.

He rolled his head to the side, his usually sharp blue eyes now a cloudy grey and tumbling about unsteadily from the drugs. He tried to focus on her, but his eyes kept rolling.

"Is that you, Syd?"

His voice almost sounded like that of a child and she cringed at the pangs of empathy she felt for him. She reminded herself that he was a killer. An assassin. She mentally recalculated all the horrific things she had seen him do.

"Sark… why did you attack the guard?"

He smiled maniacally. "Because I am a killer. That's what I do."

She swallowed again.

"Why do you want to die?"

His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"Sark!"

She shook him firmly and he snapped back to attention.

He grinned stupidly. "What was the question again?"

She glanced at the wall where she knew Whatts and the psychologists would be watching from behind the two-way mirror.

"Irina?"

"No, Sark, it's Sydney Bristow… answer my questions."

"You look so much like your mother."

Sydney tucked her hair behind her ears. She finally had the chance to ask him about her – about her mother. She wondered if doing so would compromise her position in the CIA, if Whatts would condone her line of questioning.

"How did you meet my mother?"

Sark swallowed dryly. Smacking his lips together.

He was completely out of it, and as much as she hated him, Sydney couldn't stand to see someone so proud dragged down, humiliated.

She touched his arm lightly.

"Sark?"

He closed his eyes and smiled slightly, as if her touch was calming somehow.

"I was nine. So young."

His smile deepened.

"I was special. And she came to take me with her."

Sydney's breath caught in her throat.

"Take you where?"

"She was so soft…" he spoke vaguely, as if in trance. "Not like my real mother. Not like my real home. But she said she would take me away from them… and I went with her… but she left too - left me alone at that place."

Sydney saw a single tear slip from the corner of his eye and creep down his cheek.

"Where did she leave you alone?"

"At that school. No-one liked me. I was too different."

Sydney grappled with the enormity of what he was telling her. Sark had been a subject in the KGB version of Project Christmas. Her mother had made him into the man he was today. She winced.

"Sark… were there other children… Other… special… children?"

He nodded.

"Where are they now?"

He didn't respond.

"Sark…"

He opened his eyes and she could see the cloudiness clearing, could see the drugs wearing off.

"I am not going to live in a cell, Sydney. I can not stay here. You either kill me or set me free."

She shook her head.

"That's not going to happen."

He sighed and turned his head toward the mirror.

"I know things… I know who is disloyal to the CIA, I know where to find the other Project Christmas subjects, I know things… If you get me out of here, I will tell you everything."

Whatts' voice boomed through an intercom system.

"The United States does not negotiate with terrorists."

He smiled slyly again and Sydney could see the Sark she knew returning.

"You will have to… eventually."

He looked back to Sydney, his eyes almost pleading.

"Sydney, you know I am a valuable agent. Convince your superiors to release me into CIA custody and I will tell you everything you need to know about your mother, and about your missing two years."

Her eyes flicked over his face fleetingly.

"No." The word was no more than a whisper.

He smiled and spoke to her softly.

"We're not so different, you and I."

Her eyes were drawn to the dried blood caked underneath his fingernails.

"No Sark. We're very different."


	8. Part Eight

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** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART EIGHT**

"Dixon I don't like this."

Sydney looked at Dixon apprehensively, her brow furrowed in objection.

"It's out of my hands Syd." 

Dixon half smiled sympathetically.

"The last time I saw Sark he'd just killed a guy and was not of sound mind. And quite frankly, I don't trust him. He's unpredictable right now - irrational. There is no-one here that could stop him if he went rogue on this mission."

Sydney crossed her arms in front of her.

"That sounds to me like you're volunteering..." Deputy-Director Whatts smiled smugly at Sydney, who turned in reaction to the deep rumble of his voice as he approached her.

"It's good to see you again Agent Bristow."

He nodded toward Dixon. "Director Dixon."

Sydney turned on him, angry.

"I don't understand! Last week you were adamant we don't negotiate with Sark, and now suddenly you've authorized sending him on a mission?"

"Agent Bristow, the CIA is flailing. Moles, leaked intelligence, mistakes, corruption - this agency is on the brink of initiating its own demise. What will happen when the CIA dies? Fear, terror, questions, blame."

Whatts paused and wiped his brow.

"The information Sark can lead us to is invaluable - integral, in fact, in ensuring the CIA's survival. The NSA has ascertained that, despite previous assumptions, he will be of use to us after all."

Sydney stuck her chin forward proudly.

"If this has to go ahead, then I'm leading the team."

Whatts raised a thick eyebrow at her questioningly.

"Are you sure?"

"I know Sark. I am familiar with his patterns. I'm the best shot you have at ensuring he doesn't get away - or try anything else."

Whatts scrutinized her for a moment longer before nodding.

"Very well."

Dixon glanced at her searchingly. "Agent Weiss will brief you at 1100."

Whatts' cavernous voice carried to Sydney as she walked away. "Good luck, Agent Bristow."

She winced at the insincerity in his words.

***

Sark played with his sleeve absently, concentrating intently on the coarse material encasing his wrist and stemming the flow of cold seeping into his skin from the heavy metal cuffs he wore grudgingly. 

He didn't make eye-contact with Sydney. He couldn't bring himself to.

Several other agents who would comprise the team sat around the briefing table glancing at him occasionally or clearing their throats nervously. Sark felt more than a little uncomfortable trusting his life with these people.

Weiss stood at the head of the briefing room, files in hand and wearing an expression of importance - save for a few timid glances toward Sark. He was hoping the young man held no grudges toward him for apprehending him.

"At 1900 a small fishing vessel will catch fire near the island of Guatpiles. The island is a docking station for a group led by ex-Alliance big-shot Reamet Hounsous who has since been linked to several high-ranking Covenant members. Coastguard will break international waters to assist it. Sydney, Sark and the rest of the covert ops team will hitch a ride with the coastguard to the disengagement point. From here, you will proceed to the island without assistance or comms. Sydney and Sark will use the codes supplied to us by Sark to disable the perimeter defense system. Once inside the facility the team will break into teams of two. Team two will guard the perimeter, team three will take out the watchtowers at points 'a' and 'b'."

Weiss motioned to points on a map projected behind him.

"Team four will provide cover for alpha team - Syd and Sark - who will proceed to Hounsous' office to recover information stored on his hard drive. Sark will pilot a submarine Hounsous utilizes as an escape method to extract you off the island. Any questions?"

He didn't wait for a reply. "No? Good."

Sydney shot Sark a look, but he was yet to speak or look at her. She furrowed her brow. _It was wrong for her to worry about him. He had killed her best friend and countless other innocents. _

Weiss drummed the table with his fingers. "Okay people, let's move!"

***

Sydney dropped into the ocean, the cold depths rushing over her as she descended. A splash beside her indicated Sark had followed. Small flashlights identified the rest of the team and she swam toward them, her diving gear weighing her small frame down. She kept a wary eye on Sark as they made their way underwater to the island. 

***

Sark pulled himself up onto the pure white sand and sighed. He had a bad feeling about this mission. He often got a sense of imminent danger - if something was going to go awry, or if Sydney was going to turn up to foil yet another of his world domination plots, and he had learned to trust his instincts, they had never let him down. Well, except for that time at Donut King - but in that case his need for a sugar fix had overpowered his spysense.

Sydney approached him menacingly.

"Sark, if you so much as breath wrong, I will kill you!"

He smiled unnervingly at her. "Fine. Like I care."

Her mind was drawn back to the week before and her visit to him at the prison.

"Good point." She stuck her chin out defensively. "Well then I'll shoot off a part of your anatomy..." She glanced warningly to the bulge in the lower part of his rubber diving suit.

He smirked again. "Ah but you'd be sorry you did that... eventually." He licked his lips suggestively and she frowned.

She turned to the rest of the team. "Let's go!"

***

Sark entered the codes hurriedly into the rusting keypad.

"You better hope these work..." Sydney growled at him, the rest of the team watched him suspiciously. 

"Sydney, in case you haven't noticed, I have been in solitary confinement for the last two years. I could hardly be held responsible if these codes are obsolete."

She narrowed her eyes. "And I'm letting you know I will hold you responsible."

A red light clicked to green and Sark let go a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"See!" he smiled triumphantly.

Lying on her stomach in the sand, Sydney motioned for the teams to move out and they scattered, leaving Sydney and Sark alone.

"Now, let's hope you remember your way to the office."

Sydney went to get up but was stunned momentarily by the weight of Sark's body on top of her.

"What ar..!!" She tried to scream at him, but his hand covered her mouth. He rolled her over so she faced him, but he remained on top of her, his body pressed against hers.

_She knew he would try and double cross them. The whole thing had been an act. The prison - the wanting to die. It had all been a facade in order to lure them into a false sense of security so that he could escape._

Sark raised a finger to his lip as if to tell her to be quiet. Raising one palm flat he signaled to her that there were hostiles in the area. She glanced in the direction he signaled. He raised three fingers. She looked at him somewhat guiltily before he rolled off her and back onto his stomach, pulling out his gun and taking aim.

The guards fell with a thud as Sark took them out with a silencer. They waited for several moments before moving out. Sark leading the way and Sydney following grudgingly. 

***

The office was dark. Sark's codes had worked to get inside the compound and the other teams had taken out the watchtowers and provided cover.

Sark sat at the computer typing while Sydney kept guard next to him.

"The files are encrypted..."  


Sarks voice split the heavy air in the office.

"Copy them and we'll decrypt them later..."

"Already doing it." Sark answered somewhat patronizingly. 'It's going to take a few minutes."

The silence was almost smothering.

"Sydney..." Sark's voice was shaking slightly. Uncertain. "... I know you don't want to hear this, but I... I am sorry, for what happened to Francie... and everything else."

Sydney turned to him violently.

"Oh no you don't." She almost spat the words at him. "You don't get to apologize. You don't get forgiveness."

Sark looked down to the computer again. He didn't know what he had been expecting her to say. But he shouldn't have anticipated anything less.

Silence again, until the computer beeped its completion. 

"We're done here." Sark's accent was crisp.

"To the rendezvous point."

Sydney stared him down.

***

They ran through the sand, hurried footsteps kicking up a cloud of shimmering white as the sun began to peak over the horizon.

They were almost at the submarine, and Sydney was somewhat relieved that Sark had not tried to escape. She was doubtful as to whether she would have walked away victorious from their fray.

Sydney heard the gunshot just as Sark felt it, the bullet tearing through his torso and flicking the sand with a spray of dark red.

The team dropped to the ground, returning fire. Sydney spotted a soldier in the bushes and fired, watching sickly as his body rolled down the sand dunes.

The rest of the team took out the remaining guards, and Sydney rushed over to Sark. She knelt beside him, examining his wound. 

He smirked at her. "Shame it wasn't you who shot me, Syd."

She turned on her comm unit. "This is Mountaineer, we have an agent down..."

Sydney pressed her hands firmly over Sark's wound, deep crimson blood teaming about her fingers and coagulating in small pools on the pure white sand where he lay.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sydney asked without looking up at him.

Sark thought he heard traces of concern in her voice.

"Why, you worried I won't make it?" He smirked confidently through his pain.

"Yeah, you're the only one who knows how to operate the submarine…"

Sark nodded slowly, but the smirk remained planted on his youthful face. He could feel himself fading slowly into the sand, the edges of his being blurring into the peaceful island scenery. 

Ironic that he'd meet his end here, in such a passive, serene setting, with Sydney Bristow hovering concernedly and almost confusingly close above him. 

He chuckled slightly as his sharp blue eyes closed softly, laughing at his death, calm and gentle, and such a paradox to the way he had lived.

Sydney almost yelled into her comm unit again. "Repeat, Agent down. We are unable to pilot the submarine, requesting immediate extraction."

She turned to the rest of the team, no-one seemed particularly distressed by Sark's wound. Why would they. _If he doesn't get medical attention soon..._ Sydney halted abruptly as she felt the rise and fall of his chest cease. _ It will be too late..._


	9. Part Nine

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** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

**PART ** **NINE**

Sark looked pale as he laid in the infirmary, and Sydney saw him wince as he tried to position his body so that he was comfortable. 

She watched him yet again through a two-way mirror. As much as she hated him, she was oddly drawn to this window, to this looking glass into Sark's psyche.

A doctor approached from behind and spoke in a slow southern drawl that almost sounded faked. "Mr. Sark is doing just fine. He should be up and about in no time."

Sydney's lips flatlined. "That's too bad."

The doctor shrugged. He was tired of dealing with clandestine ops agents. They were all so highly strung.

She stole one last glance at her nemesis before turning on her heel and walking away, taking care to avoid Vaughn as he powered down the hall importantly. 

***

"What's this?"

Sydney pointed to a trickle of water running down the glass that encased Sark in his cell at the CIA Ops Centre, and slowly pooling on the hard concrete ground.

Sark raised his eyebrows. "It's a leak."

Sydney half smirked at him. "Obviously."

"The terrifying thing is I think it is coming from the men's bathroom." His eyes widened in mock fear.

Sydney almost chuckled but mentally checked herself before she did and instead gave a half smile. It was probably not proper CIA agent etiquette to laugh at a terrorist's jokes, no matter how many missions you had been on together.

This mission would be the 10th mission she had completed with Sark, and she hated to admit that she often fought the urge to laugh or joke with him and found his company not as stomach-churning as she would have imagined. He had an infectious personality, and a killer smile. She grimaced. Killer, exactly.

Sark saw the laugh in her eyes at his joke and his body went all tingly. He loved that he could have had such an affect on her. His heart fluttered slightly as he anticipated her quiet giggle, but it never came. He looked to his feet, and when he glanced back up at her, Sydney Bristow: CIA Agent had returned, and was fixing him with a cold stare. A stare he knew he deserved.

"We have a briefing with Weiss in an hour and a half. Just thought I'd give you a heads up." Sydney's voice was even and emotionless.

Sark nodded without looking at her.

***

Weiss smiled warmly at Sydney as she entered the briefing room. God she loved him. These days he was her best friend and she knew without doubt that he would always be there for her, no matter what.

Marshall bumbled in behind her, clapping a large metal box down on the briefing room table. Sark was led in soon after, hands and feet manacled customarily.

"Right." Weiss smiled. "Now that everyone's here..."

"Wait..." Sydney raised an eyebrow skeptically. "It's just us two?" She motioned to Sark and herself.

"Yeah..." Weiss shot Syd a reassuring glance.

"We've ascertained that Mr Sark..." Weiss paused and swallowed when he said the terrorist's name, "Is no longer a level 7 security threat, and as this mission is clandestine to the extreme, we can only send in two men."

Sydney nodded.

Sark opened the briefing folder in front of him and frowned. "Why me? I have no knowledge of this facility that would be of value to the operation."

Weiss shrugged. "This one comes from above me."

Sydney pursed her lips suspiciously.

Weiss pressed a button and a satellite photo of what looked like a farm appeared on the large screen behind him.

"A farm, right? Wrong. The information we have retrieved, mostly thanks to you two, have revealed that this is no ordinary crop patch. Far from it. This is a covenant training facility."

Sydney looked up at him.

"Here, covenant operatives are trained as clandestine agents in much the same way a CIA agent would be. Almost exactly. This is because they have a mole in the CIA training facility, affectionately known to us all as 'The Farm'."

Marshall raised his hand. "Is that why.. errr.. this facility is a farm?"

"No, I think it just seemed like a good business front..." Weiss was often thrown by Marshall's seemingly naive questions.

"Now, not only does the covenant have a mole at The Farm, but in practically every other branch of the CIA. This is bad, people. Very bad. But, we know that these moles had to have trained at this facility... right?" He motioned to the picture behind him.

"So this means we have a chance of identifying them, and perhaps preventing these other covenant trainees from becoming moles."

Sydney nodded. This sounded like a plan, a real plan that might actually leave a dent in the mysterious new terrorist group.

"Your mission is to infiltrate this facility and gather intelligence that might give us an advantage if we were to send in a tactical team to disable it permanently. Most importantly, we're after records that will identify the moles already planted within the CIA. Marshall?"

Weiss turned to Marshall for his OpTech analyses.

"Now, this facility which I like to call, The Farm 2, has like, state of the art security systems, right. I'm talking futuristic-type state-of-the-art. What does that mean anyways? 'State-of-the-art'?"

Sark, Sydney and Weiss shrugged.

"Never mind, what's important to note is that The Farm 2 does not allow radio transmitions of any kind, so if you were trying to communicate with us like, 'Hey this is mountaineer... agent down'..." His eyes darted to Sark, who eyed him steadily, and Marshall veered back onto a less touchy train of thought.

"Well, they would detect that and you would be, well, in big trouble."

He paused and drew in a log breath before opening the metal box in front of him.

"But that's why I whipped up these babies."

He pulled out four small silver discs.

"You just pop these on here..." He placed a disc on either side of his temples. "And wham! Your thoughts become the like, radio transmissions... well, they would if someone else had these discs on their head."

"Is that even possible?" Sydney couldn't keep the skepticism from her voice.

Marshall looked at her almost cockily. "I'm _THAT_ good."

"So I would be wearing the other set?" Sark's voice was soft but strong.

"Yes." Marshall looked between Sark and Sydney uncomfortably.

"No way!" Sydney and Sark spoke in unison.

"It's the only way." Weiss looked at Sydney apologetically.

"But... all our thoughts?"

Marshall looked at her with a shrug. "I haven't quite figured out how not to yet... I'm not _THAT_ good."

Sydney narrowed her eyes.

"Be ready for deployment tonight." Weiss said almost too cheerily, trying to break the tension.

Marshall packed up and left uncomfortabley, Weiss followed quickly.

"Syd..." Sark began tentatively. "I just want to say... working with you has been..."

She looked up at him. "Sark this is going to be... weird."

"I'm not talking about that. I mean, you've always treated me... despite what you think of me... how much you hate me..."

It wasn't often Sark was lost for words, but he couldn't get it out, he couldn't tell her what he wanted to say. Although he doubted she would listen.

"Sark, I work with you because I have to. Everyday I fight the urge to strangle you with my bare hands. The only reason I don't is because this country needs the information you have." She tried to sound vindictive - tried to sound spiteful.

He winced at her words. It was almost pathetic the way she revered her beliefs of right and wrong, of black and white. But he wouldn't say that to her. He had caused her too much pain already - he knew that. So he sat silently until 2 US Marshals entered and led him away, the metal of his cuffs scraping along the ground, sending chills through Sydney.

One day she might be able to forgive him, forgive Sloane, and forgive herself. But that day was far away, and it still hurt to look at him, it still churned her stomach to think of all the things he had done, to think of the way he had Francie killed, the way he didn't care.

She wondered if that day would ever come.


	10. Part Ten

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**PART TEN**

Sydney grunted as she slid along the ground beside Sark, her eyebrows characteristically furrowed.

He had _I'm So Excited_ stuck in his head and it was driving her crazy.

_Cut it out._ Sydney sent him a volatile brainwave.

_I'm so excited  
And I just can't hide it  
I'm about too lose control and I think I like it_

She could hear laughter muffled by his persistent singing.

_I'm about to lose control if you do not stop singing that ridiculous song. _Sydney grunted again.

_Fine, Fine, fine. Spoil my fun. _

Sydney stopped crawling and turned to Sark incredulously, her arms, face and stomach covered in mud.

"This is fun?"

She spoke the words, but Sark also heard her think 'idiot'. His smile deepened.

"It's awfully quiet out there..." Weiss' voice crackled over the communications piece.

"No it's not, that's the problem." Sydney said stiffly, although Weiss detected the hint of amusement in her voice.

He knew she enjoyed Sark's company, he also knew she would never admit that to him or anyone else - or herself.

"Okay, preparing to go radio silent. Any last words?" Weiss' voice was nervous. He had a bad feeling about this mission.

"Did you really have to use the term 'last words'? Sark's haughty accent scoffed at Weiss.

"Sorry pal. Alright then, you're on your own from here..." Weiss' voice crackled off.

_I'm so excited  
And I just can't hide it...._

_Shut up._

_Fine._

"You know..." Sydney said aloud. "I never pictured you as a disco man.

"Oh really?" Sark raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, really."

"And what kind of music did you think I'd listen to...?"

Sydney screwed her face up in mock thought. "I do not know... Marilyn Manson?"

Sydney heard Sark laughing in his head, even though his face remained completely blank. She wondered how he could be so multiple - how he could think one thing and do another.

"Quite easily..." Sark's voice muffled as he rolled over and kept sliding toward the Covenant training facility masquerading as a farm.

_Damn. _Sydney had momentarily forgotten that Sark could hear her thoughts.

She heard him chuckle and she mentally reminded herself not to think of him naked.

Almost as soon as she'd thought it she had regretted it. Sark's laughter intensified.

"Hey, covert mission. Featured word COVERT. As in, they're not supposed to know we're here..." Sydney scowled at him.

His laughing ceased, but Sydney could still hear him gurgling with humour in his head.

The device Marshall had constructed to allow Sark and Sydney to communicate via thoughts was confusing - if not unnerving.

Although she could hear distinct thoughts - thoughts at the forefront of Sark's mind, there were shadows - murmurs, whispers, reverberating around her head. These were background thoughts, Marshall had explained. Thoughts not necessary to the mission. But Sydney had a strange compulsion to discover these hidden thoughts of Sark's - she found herself wanting to know everything about him.

_We're here... _Sark stopped underneath some bush near the perimeter fence, and Sydney slid up beside him. He was close to her - too close - and she could feel his breath on her neck. 

_Okay... this is where we split up..._ Sark hesitated for a moment and Sydney caught a flicker in his eyes. She tried to delve deeper into what he was thinking but was blocked by his incessant singing. 

_I'm so excited  
And I just can't hide it  
I'm about too lose control and I think I like it_

Sydney frowned as she watched Sark darting across the field. 

For a brief moment the singing stopped, and Sydney suddenly realized why he had been annoying her with that song for hours. He was trying to conceal something - his true thoughts.

Instantly she knew what he had been trying to tell her in the briefing room after everyone else had left. His stammered thank-yous, his uncertain tone - he had been trying to say goodbye.

Sydney's breath caught as the realization hurtled through her. Sark was escaping.

She leapt to her feet and ran toward him, regardless of whether or not she was going to blow their cover.

Her only thoughts - her one thought - was that she could not let him get away. She had abandoned the mission as soon as his plan had been made clear to her.

"Sark!"

She yelled into the still night air.

He turned momentarily to gauge her distance behind him.

_Featured word: 'COVERT', Sydney. _Sark's thoughts were of her - always of her.

_You know you can't get away... _She knew it was pointless trying to reason with him.

_On the contrary... Either I will escape or I will be killed trying. Either way, I won't be going back to the CIA._

Sydney raised her gun, leveling it at Sark's fleeing form. If she fired she knew she could get him - but she also knew she would give their position away.

She was going to have to break radio silence and take her chances. She clicked on her comm unit.

"Base camp this is Mountaineer. We have a situation. Sark is trying to escape."

"What? Sydney, you're not supposed to be using... what? he's escaping?" Weiss couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I'll send in an extraction team. Syd I do not think you should pursue him - it's too dangerous."

"I am not gonna let this son-of-a-bitch get away." Sydney couldn't explain why, but she felt betrayed by Sark... Her first thoughts were of his betrayal to their strange friendship - not that he had killed her best friend and countless other people or that he was an international terrorist - but that he had deceived her - used her - lied to her.

_I didn't deceive you, Sydney. I just didn't tell you I was planning to escape._

She hated that he could still hear her thoughts.

_Bullshit. You used the way I feel about you to escape._

_The way you feel about me? _Sark sounded genuinely surprised. 

_Don't flatter yourself. I meant that we had sort of become... friends._

_I'm so excited  
And I just can't hide it  
I'm about too lose control and I think I like it_

He was hiding something again.

"Sydney, the team is on their way. Head straight to the extraction point." Weiss was insistent.

"I can not just let him get away. Not like this..."

"Sydney, it's not worth your life."

"Tell her to let him go..."

Weiss turned at the sound of Director Whatts' booming voice.

"Sir?" Weiss looked up questioningly. The rest of the comm team looked at him confusedly. 

A team of NSA agents entered behind him and moved toward the comm stations.

"Tell your men to vacate their stations." Whatts' looked Weiss in the eye, his voice commanding.

"Sir, we are in the middle of an operation..." Weiss stammered, unsure of what action to take.

"Yes, and now it's my operation."

"Not when my agent is in the field..." He stood to level his eyes with Whatts, the two men facing off.

"Let them take over..." Dixon entered with an entourage. "I'm not happy about this either Weiss, but this is above you and me..."

Weiss backed away reluctantly, his men following suit. 

Whatt's picked up a communications headset.

"Agent Bristow, this is Deputy-Director Whatts. Do not pursue the suspect. I repeat, do not pursue Mr Sark."

"Whatts?" Sydney barked into her comm piece. "Where's Weiss?"

"Agent Weiss is no longer in control of this operation... I am."

Sydney ran to a block of building Sark had disappeared behind, stepping over an unconscious guard. 

She searched the darkened buildings for Sark, startling as the facility's main alarm began to sound.

"I've been made!"

"Sydney get out of there!" Weiss yelled at her desperately.

"I am not letting him get away" Sydney's voice was firm, determined.

"Then you put yourself willingly at risk." Whatts raised an eyebrow calmly.

"What do you know that I don't? Cos I have the feeling that I am not being told everything..."

Whatts boomed back at her. "Let's just say that this operation has gone according to plan."

"What? What aren't you telling me?" Sydney was frantic. 

As if in answer to some prewritten cue, Sydney heard gunshots, and winced as Sark's thoughts of pain flew through mind.

_He's been shot._

She rounded a corner to find Sark lying motionless on the ground. Her eyes traveled up - drawn by a familiar laugh - to Tarra Moore sitting atop a black stallion, his neck misted with Sark's blood.

Smilingly chillingly Moore blew the top of her shotgun flamboyantly.

"Look at me, I'm John freakin' Wayne. Except, you know, female... and evil."

Sydney stared uneasily and almost fearfully at the young free agent.

_Sark... are you okay?_

Sydney had never wanted to hear Sark's voice so desperately. Silently she willed him to think or say something - anything - hell even a few bars of _I'm So Excited_.

She looked toward his still form.

_Sark?_


	11. Part Eleven

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**PART ELEVEN**

Sydney pulled against the cuffs securing her to the metal chair. She wondered what tricks she was going to have to pull to get herself - and Sark - out of this one.

She looked around the Spartan cell - a mirror she guessed was two-way, herself, the chair, the cuffs, and no possible means of escape.

She sighed. She didn't even know if Sark was alive - she still couldn't contact him. When Moore's men had moved her into this cell they had neglected to remove the small silver disks on her temples that allowed her to communicate with Sark, and she ascertained that they had no idea what they were.

_Sark... Sark can you hear me?_

She unwittingly held her breath in wait for a reply, a reply that was not forthcoming. The only response was a vast, empty silence that disturbed her more than it should have. 

Why should she mourn the death of a terrorist? A man who had tried on numerous occasions to kill her, had shot or killed her friends and countless other people for profit.

She scrunched up her face in an attempt to fight back the tears that no-one would ever see her shed.

***

Moore paced the the room as Vaughn talked animatedly to her. She kept glancing up at him - noticing how much he had changed since their first meeting two years ago - just after Vaughn had been told Sydney Bristow had been killed in action.

"Yeah, but the deal was clear Agent Vaughn, you guys deliver Sark - and your agent gets out of here before my men showed up. What am I going to tell the Covenant now? That I let a CIA agent go?" Her vice was thick with a French accent as her eyes narrowed, her almost feline features daring him to defy her.

"Tarra, Syd... Agent Bristow disobeyed the orders given to her to retreat. She was not privy to Whatt's deal with you."

"That's not my problem..."

Vaughn sighed, running a tired hand through his hair wearily.

"Tarra please, what do want, name it, and the CIA will give it to..."

"Is it really worth it? I mean, one agent? And not a particularly good one if I may so..."

"She's one of the best..." Vaughn looked to the ground.

Tarra's eyebrow raised characteristically, her face twisted in a mocking smile. "Oh yeah, she's real dangerous - she goes to pieces so fast people could get hit by the shrapnel...".

"Tarra..."

Tarra Moore sighed. She didn't know why she was letting the skinny American woman go free. But the repercussions of such an act was the last thing on her mind at this poignant moment in her life.

"Fine, but I am gonna have to kill all the guys that saw me bring her in."

"What are you going to tell the Covenant?"

"I'll tell them that Sark did it... But I'll need compensation... you know, to hire more guys..." She rubbed her fingers together to indicate the money she wanted.

Vaughn nodded slowly. "Do it..."

Tarra reverted back to her Jersey twang for a final flamboyant gesture and if Vaughn had not known she was a French national he would have been fooled by the accuracy of her assumed accent. "Then bring me the bling bling baby."

***

"What do you mean, 'planned'?" Sydney stared at Vaughn incredulously from the other side of the helicopter - suddenly needing to put all the space she could between them.

"It was a set-up. Moore contacted me, told me she now working for the Covenant and that she could get us the information we needed from the Covenant training facility in exchange for Sark."

"I don't understand..."

"I went to Whatt's with the offer, as you know he's been handling these Mole-related cases and is the liaison between the NSA and the CIA on this matter... He agreed that the trade was worth it. While you were pursuing Sark, a secondary team infiltrated the facility and obtained the information. Moore bought us a window of time and a cover story. She tells the Covenant that Sark tried to get into their training facility and she apprehended him. It's a situation of mutual benefit - we obtain the information without the Covenant knowing and consequently alerting their assets, and Moore gets Sark."

"So you just gave up Sark?"

Vaughn smiled. "It's okay Syd, she wanted him to kill him - he's not on the loose again."

Sydney looked at Vaughn and suddenly needed to throw up. Her eyebrows furrowed and she opened her mouth to say something - but the words choked in her throat.

"Syd, what's wrong? It's just _Sark_..."

Sydney swallowed and answered him softly - her voice no more than an uttered whisper as they set down at Langley, the chopper cutting through the morning air.

"Yeah... It's just Sark..."

***

Sark opened an eye slowly and carefully - and only slightly. He was unwilling to draw any unsavoury attention. 

The room was white - so white - and he couldn't make out any distinguishing aspects. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling of pure white.

_Maybe I'm dead_, he thought, an ironic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Funny that hell should smell like apple disinfectant and be a dazzling white.

He could feel the cold of steel seeping into his flesh from a table he lay on, and the starch smell of disinfectant told him he was in an infirmary.

He heard high heels clicking toward him, their shrill resonance echoing like the wretched sound of shrapnel falling after gunfire.

He could smell her rich vanilla scent as she approached. 

"Hey Moore. How have you been?"

He opened his other eye and shifted slightly - the pain shooting through his spine urging him to stop.

She raised her shirt - a web of scars stretching across her stomach.

"I been better." Her Jersey drawl contrasted his crisp British enunciation. 

He winced - not from the pain - he was used to it by now - but from an emotion that he had not felt in a long time. Guilt, perhaps?

She flicked one leg over over the metal bench he laid on, straddling his hips and leaning in close, her full lips close to him, her breath prickling his skin.

"But how about you, Mr Sark? How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot."

Her lips curved into a wide smile. "Always making with the witticisms, Mr Sark. I don't think I need to tell you that this is no laughing matter."

"I thought for sure you'd want me dead". He said it casually, trying to keep the uneasiness he was feeling from creeping into his voice.

She traced her fingers lightly down each side of his face, her cold skin itching his cheeks. Sark shivered involuntarily.

She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "Oh I want you dead, Mr Sark... Just not yet."

He swallowed as a a trolley stacked with surgical equipment was rolled in, its wheels screaming in protest.

Moore climbed off him and walked toward the trolley, picking up a scalpel and flicking it around her fingers in a grandiose movement that one would expect from the ostentatious agent. Another sinister smirk pulled her lips into a wide smile.

"Firstly, I want revenge..."


	12. Part Twelve

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**PART TWELVE**

The food tasted like ash in her mouth and Sydney unwillingly spat it back out on the plate.

Weiss' eyes darted up at her concernedly, but he didn't say anything. If there was one thing Sydney hated it was sympathy - pity. So he gave her silence. A strong, supportive silence he knew she needed.

She put her fork down on the plate, sighing and shifting in her seat.

"I don't know what it is Weiss. I mean, I know I should be _glad _that he's dead... he is... was a terrorist. He killed people. But I'm not. I'm... I _mourn_ him."

Weiss nodded slowly and knowingly.

"Sydney... I know what you mean. Sark was a friend. Well, not a friend as in I'd invite him out for a drink, but he was... okay."

"Yeah..." Sydney nodded slowly as a tear slipped down her cheek. Weiss pretended he didn't see it - just like Sydney would have wanted him to."

***

Tarra Moore circled Sark predatorily. 

"You know how long it took me to escape from the Triad?" She didn't look at him, instead stroking a scalpel almost admiringly. 

"I take it that's a rhetorical question." 

She looked at him suddenly - her eyes flashing with malice.

"It must be hard, Mr Sark. Being the funny man - the wise guy..."

"Surprisingly, not that many people find me amusing..." He shrugged slightly and mockingly, trying not to move too much - fearful his bullet wound would cause further pain.

She walked closer to him.

"Don't you ever get tired of it? The constant facade?" Her eyes were suddenly serious and sad and Sark bit his lip to stop tears from forming. 

He knew exactly what she meant. They were such similar creatures Moore and himself - interminably bound to a life that offered no chance of truth, no chance of love - constantly lying, deceiving, killing, hating. Sark often wondered if when he was done with this life there would be anything left of him - not of Mr Sark the espionage agent and assassin for hire, but of himself, his true self - whoever that was anymore.

Her archaic eyes held that question, every aspect of it and all that it entailed was mirrored in those tumultuous, primeval orbs.

She shook her head slightly, as if ridding herself of thought and raised her shirt again. Sark looked at the scars tracked across her stomach, each one wide and newly healed, their raised surface lighter than her golden skin.

"What they did to me..." 

Sark watched her teeth bite down on her bottom lip until deep crimson blood trickled from it.

"It's your fault, Sark."

He looked up at her from where he laid. He was truly sorry for what happened to her... but he couldn't express it. His face remained impassive.

Tarra's voice trembled. "It took three months before I managed to escape - and that was only when the Covenant came to take over the Triad's operations in Beijing. Now I gotta work for them, you know, as pay back. So I'm still not free."

She shook her head again.

"Three months..."

Tears welled in her eyes and she palmed them away violently, stepping right beside Sark.

"They bled me of every bit of information I had - literally."

She grabbed his shoulders suddenly and ferociously, shaking him violently. "Three months!!"

Tarra dropped to her knees sobbing.

She looked so much like a young girl - lost, confused - rather than the international terrorist he knew her to be. Sark reached for her hand and gripped it tightly as if he was afraid that if he let her go the Tarra Moore he knew would completely slip away and all that would be left was this shell of a woman - this woman he knew he couldn't take. Anger, hatred, revenge - these were all things he could handle - all emotions he was familiar with. But this....

"I hate you..." Tarra's sobs shook her body.

He moved slowly onto his side, tipping her chin up to face him with his free hand, his other still holding hers tightly.

Her beautiful eyes opened slowly and he stared into them, his own arctic coloured eyes reflecting his emotions.

"I'm so sorry Tarra..."

She held his gaze for a moment before looking away suddenly, pulling her hand from his grasp as if she were disgusted by his touch.

"You don't get to be sorry Sark. Not for this. You get to pay... and you will." Tarra's voice faltered only slightly.

She walked away shakily but confident. The Tarra Sark was familiar with had returned and for a moment he found himself preferring the sobbing little girl.

He figured she had gone to compose herself - for someone like Tarra Moore - for someone like himself - emotions were seen as weaknesses, and weaknesses can be exploited. She would not want Sark to see these weaknesses for this expressed purpose.

He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly, his fingers halting on the small, smooth disc on his temple.

He reached for his other temple - but it was bare.

If he could find the other disc he could contact Sydney... 

He knew the chances of her helping him were slight - non-existent, almost. But he had to try.

He glanced around the room hurriedly. It was possible Moore had no clue as to what the disc were and the other one had simply slipped off. He looked to the floor and his suspicions were proven.

A wry smile tickled at the corners of his mouth as he watched the small circle glittering under the fluorescent lights.

Sark moved slowly to the ground and the stitches holding his gunshot wound busted. Funny that Moore would fix him up only to kill him. He winced, but grabbed the disc, pressing it against his temple. A moment later he felt a tingle in his head, as if his hair was reaching for the ceiling. A glance toward the two-way mirror told him that it was.

"Ick... I look like Agent Vaughn." Sark screwed his face and forehead up to further the effect. 

He pursed his lips exaggeratedly and impersonated Vaughn in a deep, if dumb voice. "Be careful, Sydney..."

He hoped no-one was watching behind the mirror - not because he was afraid they would see him activate the disc - he did not want anyone seeing his Vaughn-like moment.

He flattened his hair again with his hands, awaiting the slight ringing noise that would indicate the disc's activation.

***

Sydney lay in bed - not quite sleeping but not awake. She drifted in a twilight state of mind - resting enough to ensure she would not exhaust, but alert enough to detect danger - attentive, watchful. She wasn't sure why but ever since she had returned from wherever she had been for two years she had been ever vigilant - ever alert. Never asleep - never letting her guard down.

She rolled over as she felt a tingle in her head, and suddenly her hair went static, clinging to the Weiss' sheets.

Weiss had let Sydney stay at his place and he had let her have his bed, she could hear his moans of discomfort from the couch. She sat up, climbing from the electricity of the bed.

Her fingers felt the discs still on her temples. She hadn't wanted to take them off - somehow, however faintly, they had made her feel connected to Sark, like he wasn't dead, like they were part of each other... forever.

Now, as she heard a ringing sound increasing in crescendo echoing around her skull, her heart leapt.

He was alive, Sark was alive. And she was going to save him.

***

"Save him? Sydney are you insane?" Weiss looked at her incredulously, fidgeting with the bottom of his pajama shirt nervously.

'Quite possibly... But I know I have to do this. Weiss, you have done... so much for me. You are my best friend, and I love you. I do not want you to do anything you don't want to. And I don't want you to do this for me - if you are going to help, you need to do it for Sark. For the belief that... that people can change - if they're given a chance."

Weiss looked to the ground, his voice soft. "Sydney I can't believe that you would..."

He paused and Sydney's breath caught.

"I can't believe that you would even need to ask... I'm in." He looked up at her and winked. Sydney smiled widely. 

_You hear that Sark? We're on our way._

_Sydney, I don't know what to say..._

But Sark didn't need to say anything - he was thinking everything. And Sydney knew at once how sorry he was, how grateful he was, how much he longed to change. And she smiled.

Life wasn't black and white. _People_ weren't black and white - good and evil - right and wrong. She knew that now. There were many shades of grey - and she was about to become one.

"You know..." Weiss said slowly. "We are going to need two more agents, at least..."

"I know..."

"Got anyone in mind...?"

Sydney breathed in deeply. "I just hope they'll say yes."

***

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Sydney looked at Marshall questioningly. He hadn't stammered, he hadn't even halted. He hadn't rambled on about the time he was picked last in gym class for the softball team or how his grandma used to make him sing Elvis Costello songs for her retirement village's bridge group.

"It's like in Star Wars when Luke just knows that it's his destiny to fight Vader, you know? Even though he was from Tatooine and lived on that farm in the desert, and he wasn't really, you know, able to join the resistance and stuff, but he did, and then he blew up the Death Star and it was like pew pew pew ca-cherrrrrrr". Marshall imitated the sound of the exploding Death Star and Sydney leaned forward and hugged him tightly.

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "So that would make Moore Darth Vader?"

"Well, a younger, hotter, more... womanly Darth Vader, but yeah... basically" Marshall blushed.

"One down..." Sydney crinkled her mouth up. "One to go..."

***

  
"No.."

"Vaughn..."

"Absolutely not Sydney... And I can not let you go either. We traded Sark with Moore, the CIA will not sanction a mission that counters..."

Sydney cut him off with a raised hand. "The CIA doesn't have to sanction it..."

"Sydney.."

"Vaughn no, if you don't want in, fine, but you are not going to stop me."

"Weiss, tell her..."

"Tell her what Vaughn? What do you want me to tell her this time? I'm sick of covering for you, I'm sick of making excuses, trying to explain your behaviour..."

"Weiss... it's _Sark_..."

"Yeah Vaughn, it's Sark. So what?" Weiss' eyes leveled with his friends, challenging, but also pleading.

Sydney pouted at Vaughn ferociously. Vaughn looked from Sydney top Weiss to Marshall, his eyes indecisive.

"Sydney, I have supported all your decisions thus far, and I'm not about to stop now. You know I'll be with you on this if you are certain this is what you want to to do..." Vaughn's eyes were guilty and his eyes flickered to his wedding ring. So did Sydney's.

"It's what I _have_ to do."

"Fine, but I'd like it to be noted that I am only going along to make sure nothing happens to you - or Moore."

Marshall stepped up to Vaughn, his face lifted and his chest puffed out.

"So noted."

"Okay..." Sydney broke the tension.

"I'm gonna call in a few favours, see if I can't get us a chopper and weapons, Weiss, Vaughn, I need you to get in touch with your contacts in the region. We need at least a 5 minute window to get around the security surveillance at The Farm. Marshall, I need you to create another device - no more brainwaves stuff though, that can like, I don't know, silence our radio waves and something like a remote control..."

"Well..." Marshall chuffed. "Since that mission I have been working on a little something, you know, that mission with you and Mr Sark sort of gave me the idea, and the remote control - piece of proverbial cake my dear" Marshall couldn't keep the pride from creeping into his voice.

"Perfect! The operation will take place in three strategic phases: 

Phase one - during our 5 minute window - we air drop into The Farm perimeter. We split up -..."

"Wait.. split up?" Marshall's voice was unsteady.

"Yeah, Weiss, Vaughn and I will disable defenses - that's phase two... Marshall I need you to wait by the perimeter. "

Marshall's face fell slightly.

"I need you in place to initiate phase three of the operation... During this phase Sark will attempt an escape - he may or may not be successful, either way, we're gonna be there to extract him - that's phase four."

_How long is this gonna take?_

"Shut up."

"What?" Vaughn wrinkled his brow.

"Not you, Sark." Sydney shook her head dismissively. 

"That's kinda weird." Vaughn's brow wrinkled further.

Marshall feared the gravitational pull of the deep crevices would suck them all in.

"Yeah..." Weiss also crinkled his face.

"All right team..." Sydney smiled. "Let's move out."


	13. Part Thirteen

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**PART THIRTEEN**

Marshall fidgeted with his semi-automatic weaponry and sighed. They had been gone for ten minutes and he had started to develop an ulcer in his stomach already. 

Weiss, Sydney and Vaughn had begun stage two of the operation to save Sark, disabling the defenses around the base in preparation for Sark's escape attempt. Sark wasn't meant to escape - it was a diversion to allow the three agents inside the facility - but he still faced a great risk, and he swallowed nervously as he sat rigidly on the edge of his table.

_W__hat if we can't get you out?_

Sydney asked Sark as she clipped a wire delicately and disabled a laser security system just outside a basement entrance.

_I'll be killed, most likely… within the next couple of days, probably. But I gather that's more warning than most people get… Usually it's just 'mind that bus', 'what bus?', splat!_

Sark shrugged even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see it.

_That's not funny_

Sydney wrinkled her nose and Vaughn looked at her enquiringly, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

_I rather thought it was_

A smile pulled Sark's mouth into a characteristically wry grin.

At that moment Moore entered his stark white cell.

"You don't really have that much to smile about..."

"I still have my life..." Sark almost breathed the words out, his voice no more than a long cylinder of desolation. 

"Not for long..." Moore spouted in a New Jersey accent.

Sark slowly moved from where he sat and walked toward her.

"Why do you pretend to be somebody who you never _have_ been?" He circled her slowly, almost predatorily. Moore looked at him casually, clearly not threatened.

"Why do you? Or does every Russian have a British accent these days, Mr Sark - or is it Julian Lazeray?" She flicked her eyebrows up and smiled victoriously.

Sark was momentarily stunned by her use of his real name.

"What's wrong, _Julian_, no witty comeback? No sarcastic remark for that one?"

"I guess we really aren't that different from each other after all, Marie Fabriese..." Sark's voice was hoarse.

Moore swallowed. "Marie doesn't exist any more. She's dead."

"No she's not - she's still a part of you... whether you acknowledge her existence or not - you are Marie, the daughter of a French farmer, just like I am Julian, the son of a Russian diplomat. We are who we are. Nothing can change that - ever."

He could see tears stinging at her eyes. But her face remained defiant.

"Philosophize as much as you want, _Mr Sark_, it doesn't change the fact that very soon, you will be dead..."

"If you really wanted to kill me, you'd have done it by now, I mean, what are you gonna do, talk me to death?"

Tarra lunged at him suddenly with a scalpel, its sharp edges finding the exposed flesh of his stomach.

He felt the pain shoot through him and so did Sydney, her hands fumbling as she worked on another alarm.

She looked to Vaughn. "We gotta hurry..."

Vaughn nodded knowingly.

***

Sark lay absolutely still. He could feel the wet of blood tricking down his back and arms. Sometimes he wished he wasn't such a smart-ass. That he didn't have this great big foot stuck in his mouth that made him say the wrong things. It would save him a lot of pain.

He watched - barely conscious - as some minions mopped up his blood, a dark stain on the pure white floor. He almost felt bad for messing it, it was that perfect.

Perfect. Just like Sydney. His mind wandered listlessly to thoughts of her - white, pure white, so smooth and white and flawless like the floor... Like this room... Not like him. He thought of all the people he had killed and wondered if they saw white went they died, or if all they saw was black, the black, endless death he gave them. Him. Black.

He half smiled as his eyelids fluttered closed.

_Sark! Wake up, focus, stay with us. We're almost there._

_I can't move... Sydney, I can't..._

_It's alright, we'll come in to get you..._

_Syd, just leave me here... it's not even worth it..._

_Like hell it's not worth it - you owe me Julian, you owe me a lot, I'm not about to let you die now. Not on my watch._

He smiled. Julian smiled.

***

Weiss dropped through the roof and Vaughn steadied him, lowering him slowly toward the control panels. 

"Almost there..." Wiess' voice crackled slowly over coms. Marshall had activated the device that was blocking their radio waves and he smiled proudly as their first radio communication was made. The others held their breath, hoping that it worked.

"Stop!" Weiss reached for the panel.

"Wait for my signal..." Sydney watched her watch. "Now!"

Weiss pushed in a button at the same time Sydney did in a hangar nearby.

"Marshall, are they down?"

"Umm... well technically they're just on 'pause', you know, like you do with the, um, remote control on the VCR, what am I saying, you probably have a DVD player..."

"Marshall, are we good to go?" Sydney's voice was urgent.

"Errr... yeah."

"Let's go..." Sydney jumped to her feet and started sprinting, while Weiss dropped quickly but silently to the ground and Vaughn followed.

"You know what to do Marshall..." Sydney sighed, hoping their plan would work.

***

Marshall waited 5 minutes before he pulled the remote control Sydney had asked him to hook up to the helicopter from his pack. He turned his laptop on and entered a program that was a three dimensional map of the area. 

He switched on the remote and pressed a button, the sound of the helicopter starting signaled his projects success and he smiled proudly again, bowing to an invisible audience. "I know, I know, Marshall Flinkman has done it again..."

The helicopter rose from the trees behind him and he saw the program on his screen come to life as the scenery changed. He had remembered telling Sydney it would be just like playing his Playstation, but as he looked to the helicopter behind him, its massive gun turret almost glinting in the sun, he knew this moment surpassed any other in his life as a CIA employee. He, Marshall Flinkman, was about to save the day.

He moved the joystick-looking device on the remote forward and the helicopter flew over top of him, toward The Farm, and victory.

***

Sydney ran faster than she ever had in her entire life, taking out guards as she went. All her training, every moment of her life had to led to this. She felt the burn of acid in her muscles but she kept going. She could hear the helicopter closing in and she knew she didn't have much time.

Vaughn and Weiss followed behind, following her to Sark.


	14. Part Fourteen

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**PART FOURTEEN**

She felt like she was running in slow motion. No matter how far she ran, she wasn't getting any closer. Sydney closed her eyes - blocking out the gunfire around her - calling out to Sark in her mind, begging him to stand, to fight, not to give up.

Sark lay dying. He could feel his life slip out with every drop of blood that fell onto that brilliant white floor. He heard her voice calling him through the whiteness.

He wasn't afraid of dying, but he was afraid of her losing her. So he climbed to his feet, almost unthinkingly, and grappled for a bloodied scalpel on the tray.

He stood at the door, his body swaying, and called out. He didn't know what he was yelling - he didn't much care, but he needed to let her know where he was - he needed her to find him.

***

Moore heard the chopper approaching and smiled. So it had come to this. She pulled a gun from it's holster around her thigh and stood up slowly. She knew this was it. Both of them couldn't walk out of this one - and she sure as hell wasn't going to let Sark be the last one left standing.

The chopper circled the base, its guns shooting anything and everything, Marshall's slightly unsteady hands ushering it from side to side.

"Where the hell are our defenses? Where are our surface to airs?" Moore screamed at a soldier as she entered the mayhem.

"They're, they're not online ma'am. We've got technicians working to restore them as we speak."

She squinted up at the helicopter, before grabbing the soldier by the collar forcefully.

"That thing's got more guns than the French armory and is rigged with enough explosives to take out this entire base."

"What does this mean?" The soldier looked at her, waiting instruction.

"It means tell the technicians to put down their computers and pick up their guns, this is a war I do not think we can win..."

The soldier swallowed and nodded. 

"Whatever happens - " Moore's eyes were steady as she looked at him. "- don't retreat - keep shooting that damn thing until it goes down - and preferably not over HQ, wherever it goes down it will go down with a bang!"

He saluted her and she nodded before running to where Sark was held.

***

Sydney pushed the door open and her mind blanked at the sight of him. She was stunned and all that managed to escape from her through her exhaustion was a muffled statement.

"You're bleeding..."

"Yeah, bullets and torture will do that to you..."

They stood for only a moment longer before she pulled him out of the room.

Vaughn and Weiss nodded at Sark, who struggled to keep up with Sydney's pace.

Sark stumbled as they ran, Weiss pulling an arm over his shoulder to steady him.

"We've got to get clear of these buildings!" Sydney yelled over the sound of gunfire.

"I know!" Weiss yelled back, "I don't know how long Marshall can keep that chopper in the air!"

As if in answer to some pre-written cue Marshall's voice crackled over the radios. "I'm taking serious fire here, she's gonna go down soon!"

"We're almost out Marshall, just a few more minutes!" Sydney's voice was desperate.

"We've got to get Tarra out too!" Vaughn half dragged Sark as well.

"There's not enough time" Sydney was breathless.

"Syd, she's not one of the bad guys..."

Sydney looked down at Sark's blood-encrusted body. "Really?"

"Where are we going?" Sark's voice was weak but his eyes shone.

"To the river, we have an alternate means of transportation awaiting our arrival..." Weiss looked to Syd, shaking his head at Sark's condition.

_Don't worry, I'll make it... I mean, I'm practically indestructible, __ although this whole 'working for the powers of good' has really lessened my abilities as an agent. I mean, what am I now? A bullet magnet?_

Sark tried to quell Sydney's unspoken fear, but it bubbled inside of her.

_Please don't let him die..._

_I heard that..._

"She's going down!" Marshall yelled over the coms, and just as Vaughn, Weiss, Sydney and Sark exited the main quad they saw a trail of black smoke spewing from the helicopter.

Covenant soldiers dropped their weapons and ran toward the forestry - running for their lives.

The helicopter spun uncontrollably, Marshall struggled to maintain control.

"We're clear Marshall! We're clear!" Vaughn shouted as the group reached the safety of the treeline and the chopper plummeted to the ground, fire rising from it's demise and licking at the Covenant buildings, smoke burning Sydney's lungs as she drew long, exhausted breaths. 

Sark leaned against a tree and smiled, watching as the explosion tore through the buildings, the entire scene playing out silently as the only thing he heard was Sydney's voice in his head...

_We made it, we made it..._

***

The fire was reflected in Moore's incandescent eyes. She watched it burn. She was free now - free of the covenant. Surely they would presume her dead.

She smiled an lit a cigarette casually. But she wasn't free of him. She saw her soldiers regrouping near the treeline. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

***

A light rain had gathered and, combined with the smoke from extinguishing and burning fires, provided them some cover from the soldiers they could here combing the forestry - searching for them.

"It's not long until sunrise... Marshall we need you to find us a way to that river soon..." Vaughn rubbed a hand through his hair.

Marshall's voice crackled over coms. "I'm working on it, but satellite imagery shows at least a unit of Covenant soldiers right smack bang between you and your destination. You'll just have to wait until they move..."

"We don't have time..." Sydney stated the obvious.

Vaughn furrowed his brow, thinking. "We need a plan..."

"Seeing as I am the evil espionage agent, I think I should come up with the cunning plan…" Sark looked to Sydney for support.

"I'm doing just fine" Vaughn was defensive.

"Please, you're CIA, you're idea of a cunning plan is 'everyone on the count of three'"

Vaughn rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps a diversion. We know that Sark is the one they want - we can draw their attention with him... It'll be fine."

"No it won't be!" Sark was almost incredulous. They would come this far to rescue him only to let him be killed as they escaped.

"It'll work..." Vaughn was decisive.

"Yer, but I am the one who will get my ass shot up…"

"If you don't shut up, you'll be wearing your ass as a hat…" Vaughn narrowed his eyes as Sark rolled his.

"I apologize. Following your assertion of male dominance, I withdraw my previous inappropriate statement."

"Just cut it out, the both of you..." Weiss looked to Sark. "Vaughn's not a bad guy, just because he's CIA... Look, you can't judge a book by it's cover alright..."

Sark sighed. "And you can't confuse Vaughn with a book... for one thing, a book has a spine..."

"Alright that's it!" Sydney almost yelled, before she whispered again so as to not give away their position. "All of you be quiet... I've got a plan that will hopefully involve no-one getting shot..."

"What is it?" Vaughn looked at her questioningly. 

Sark nodded knowingly as their thoughts merged, and both Sark and Sydney spoke in unison. 

"The trees..."


	15. Part Fifteen

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**PART FIFTEEN**

The group navigated their way steadily through the tree-tops, Sark still shaky on his feet but holding his own. Weiss could periodically be heard murmuring a mantra - 'Height won't hurt you...'

_I'm not good at thank-yous, but..._ Sark tried to express his thanks.

_I would have done it for anyone... _Sydney tried to remain blasé.

Sark half smiled, he had anticipated she would say that. It was interesting how much he understood her, how well he knew her... how much he felt for her. 

Sydney, reading his thoughts, turned her head slightly and smiled secretly at Sark, the kind of rare smile that was reserved only for someone with whom one shared the deepest bond - knowing something together that no-one else knew, feeling something that no-one else felt.

Suddenly a loud breaking sound rang out, instinctively Sydney ducked, gripping onto the large branch she was walking on. She looked around to see Vaughn swinging helplessly from his with one hand, a crack down the middle revealing the source of the disturbance. 

"Vaughn!" Sydney whispered to him, hoping that their position hadn't been given away.

He struggled to pull his other hand up to grasp the branch.

_I'll get him..._

Sark was closest to Vaughn and darted around the highest branches to reach him.

He sat on the branch next to Vaughn, gripping its width with his legs. He reached out to Vaughn, who grabbed Sark's hand with his free one. Slowly, Vaughn released his grip on the branch and grabbed hold of Sark's other hand.

Sark smiled at Vaughn. "I could let you go now, and you would die..."

A look of panic crossed Vaughn's face.

"... but I'm not going to. That's gotta tell you something, so trust me, I'm not exactly on your side, but I am definitely not on Moore's"

Sark pulled Vaughn up onto the branch but as he did so the tree began to sway and Sark lost his grip and was swung upside down, his arms and legs gripping the top of the branch from the underside.

_Can you get back up?_

Sark smiled and let go of the branch with his hands - the only thing fastening him to the tree was his legs which were crossed over at the front, his arms dangling toward the ground precariously.

"Height won't hurt you" Weiss breathed in and out rapidly.

In one fluid movement Sark spun himself back onto the top of the branch, accidentally knocking the small silver disc from his temple. 

"Limber..." Weiss nodded his approval.

Sydney exaggerated a silent applause.

"Thank-you" Sark grinned. "Thank-you very much".

Vaughn nodded his thanks to Sark.

They could hear the disc clattering as it every branch on the way down.

"Don't worry about the disc..." Sydney looked to Sark. "Let's keep moving."

***

Sydney, Vaughn, Weiss and Sark reached the river without further incident. The covenant soldiers, searching unsuccessfully for them amidst the forestry, had been oblivious to their travels in the canopy above them.

"How the hell do we get down there?" Weiss looked at the sheer drop down the cliff face to the river.

"Marshall?" Sydney roused Marshall on coms. 

"I've already thought ahead, check around, I air-dropped some parachutes before I launched the assault on The Farm 2... there's no need to say anything... you know..., I'mm good, but I was just doing my job."

"You're a genius Marshall." Sydney smiled as she imagined the red blush creeping over Marshall's face.

"Well, not quite, well nearly cos my IQ is at a level far beyond most regular-smart people but, not quite genius level yet, maybe in afew more years, if I can get some time to study, you know, I was thinking about going back and doing some classes..."

"Thanks Marshall" Vaughn cut him off.

"Got 'em!" Weiss held up a parachute triumphantly. 

"Let's move!" Sydney put on her chute and the others followed suit, Sark flinching as he attempted to put his on.

Vaughn jumped first and Weiss next, the chutes opening with a thud as the air scooped them up and carried them onto the waiting boat gently.

Sydney Sark were left alone on the cliff top, the wind flicking about their faces dramatically.

"I won't tell them you tried to escape..." Sydney looked to Sark earnestly. "You can keep working for the CIA, you won't have to go back to prison..." Sydney smiled hopefully.

Sark smiled back, but it was a smile etched with a deep sadness, his eyes reflecting the look she had seen in them so long ago when she had observed him in his cell. It was the look of a caged tiger or a wild animal at the moment it realizes it has been captured - that it realizes it will never be free again.

"Sark..." That look made Sydney's heart ache.

Sark winced as he struggled to pull on his chute.

"Don't say anything Syd... there's nothing _to_ say."

She could feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes. But she had to bring him in. She had to do her job.

Abandoning his parachute for the moment he stepped closer to her, his hand tracing a gentle line down the side of her face.

She took one last look into those brilliant blue eyes, eyes she could have sworn were misting with tears, before he reached in and kissed her passionately, deeply, almost desperately. 

Sydney felt every aspect of her being, and every aspect of his, melding, entwining, percolating into each other until they were one entity, one being standing atop the edge of the earth at the edge of time.

She felt that if this moment were to ever end, she would most certainly die, for how could she live knowing that part of her was gone.

"Well isn't this romantic!"

Sark and Sydney turned at the sound of Moore's voice Sark's hand around Sydney's her waist protectively.

Moore smiled at Sark and licked her lips like a cat about to devour a trapped rat.

"Don't waste my time, Tarra, kill me or let me go."

A gunshot rung out, the strong wind quickly ripping the sound away.

Sark dropped to one knee as the bullet tore through his calf muscle.

"Uh-uh, I'm gonna kill the skinny American first..." Tarra narrowed her exquisite eyes. "So you get to watch..."

Sark closed his eyes and whispered to Sydney sadly. "I'm sorry..."

"For the kiss?"

He shook his head.

"For this..."

At that Sydney felt herself lift up. Sark's arm around her waist reached for her chute cord and he pulled it as he threw her over the cliff.

"Sark! Sark what have you done?!!" Sydney looked up at the cliff top through tears, calling to Sark. But the wind carried her and her voice away from him and toward Vaughn and Weiss.

"How gallant of you, trying to protect Sydney... how brave." Moore sneered sarcastically at Sark.

Moore stepped closer to him, her gun sitting comfortably aimed at his chest.

Sark stumbled backwards, another bullet wound allowing the little blood he had left to stream from his body.

"So this is it..." Sark's Irish accent faded to one far closer to that of his homeland.

"C'mon now Sarkie, Julian, you always knew one of us was gonna end up killing the other, it was inevitable."

"I just never thought you'd be the one doing the killing and I'd be the one doing the dying."

Moore tilted her head to the side as she took one final step towards him, her gun touching his chest.

"Yeah, it's funny how these things work out."

Sark closed his eyes and sighed, his final words no more than a long, elliptical sound resonating sorrow and regret. "Yeah, it is..."

Sark grabbed hold of Tarra Moore's waist as he fell backwards, their bodies tumbling over the cliff face.

Sark smiled characteristically. Poetic, he thought, that they would die together, holding each other, two entities, so different, but unequivocally the same wretched thing, bound to each other forever as they descended from the world of the living and into the eternal depths below.

Sydney tried to scream as she saw the two figures flung over the cliff and onto the rocks below, but no sound escaped her throat.

This was the end, she thought. The end of everything. And she guessed that it was elegiac that there would be nothing - no sound - no feeling, at the end.


	16. The Epilogue

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**PART SIXTEEN - EPILOGUE**

Sydney hurried down the hallway with determined strides, a Rambaldi artifact tucked safely in a pocket in her black leather vest.

"Sydney, we have confirmation of another team entering the building..." Weis' voice crackled over comms.

"Covenant?" 

"Unconfirmed..."

"Alright, I'll be careful... So this artifact is a key to unlock the one we're after...?"

"Something like that, Syd, please be careful..." 

She smiled wickedly. "Always. Okay, I'm going radio silent."

She could sense something as she headed toward the vault, a peculiar feeling that she hadn't experienced since... since Sark had died saving her life so many months ago.

She turned and looked behind her but the long hall was empty.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was with her, watching her, protecting her.

She slipped the old key into the archaic vault and it grunted in protest as it reluctantly opened. 

It smelled like old cheese inside the vault and Sydney wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Oh my God, it _is_ old cheese!" 

She recognised his voice instantly, and turned, her breath becoming frantic.

"Sark!"

Sark looked over her shoulder at the barrels of rotting cheese and narrowed his eyes. "I left Bali for _this_?"

A team of soldiers in black camouflage stood in wait behind him. 

Sydney couldn't move and she could barely speak. When finally she attempted to, her voice rasped out a greeting.

"We thought you were dead..."

"If we don't get rid of this decomposing cheese, I might be soon..."

He gagged again as he looked at it's green, decaying flesh.

Tears begin to well in Sydney's eyes and Sark suddenly pulled her closer to him, holding her, their faces only inches from each others.

His voice grew low as he looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry Syd, I didn't want to hurt you. I survived the fall, surprising a patch of unusually springy bushes saved me. But I had to make you think I was... gone..."

"Why?"

He searched her eyes for understanding. "So I could be free, and so could you..."

"I am free..." She narrowed her eyes at him, pushing him away.

"I didn't want you to have to live knowing that you took me back there, that it was you who brought me in. They would have given me the death sentence, or worse, you know it."

The tears began to flow more freely down her cheeks, and Sark fought back his own.

"But I though you were DEAD!" Sydney wept and Sark reached for her again, cradling her to him.

His own tears streaked his face silently. 

After a few moments he lifted her head up to face him, brushing her hair form her face.

"But I'm alright. And I'm starting my own organization up. Still recruiting, actually..."

He walked into the vault.

"You know, whatever the CIA pays you, it can't be enough..."

Sydney smiled at him and shoved him gently. "We've been through this already."

Sark scraped some of the cheese, placing it into a Petri dish in disgust.

"What are you doing?"

"This bacteria Rambaldi was cultivating - unlimited potential for biological warfare."

Sydney narrowed her eyes. "You know I can't just let you walk outta here with that..."

Sark smiled victoriously. "And you know that you're not gonna be able to stop me..."

Sydney looked past him to his team and grunted.

"You're cheating."

"No, I'm winning..." His grin spread across his young face.

Sydney folded her arms. "You know I'm going to come after you, and I'll get you..."

Sark's smile never faulted as he grabbed her and kissed her, before heading down the hall, turning back quickly to yell his challenge.

"Then let the chase begin!"

Sydney stood watching him leave, a smile of her own creeping across her petite face.

**THE END**


End file.
